Crown of Thorns
by Seriously Sam
Summary: It was a demon John wasn't expecting, a hunt that he didn't count on going down exactly how it did. All he knew is that this demon got into his mind, twisted his thoughts around into a pile so dark that he couldn't even remember his own sons.
1. Lamb to the Slaughter

Title - Crown of Thorns

Summary - It was a demon John wasn't expecting, a hunt that he didn't count on going down exactly how it did. All he knew is that this _demon_ got into his mind, twisted his thoughts around into a pile so dark that he couldn't even remember his own sons. This _demon_ who somehow managed to take away everything he held dear, to make him lash out against his oldest son. It was this _demon_ who changed his youngest son's opinion of his father forever.

_Part of__** 'The Dark Horse' **__series_

**"Crown of Thorns"**

**"Chapter One: Lamb to the Slaughter"**

_7 February 1997_

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

He felt like he was floating high in the sky, gliding through fluffs of white. He felt light, weightless, free. Everything seemed right with the world, and he was positive he'd never been so carefree in his life. That's when he saw her face a lit with sadness as the rays from the sun illuminated her from behind. His world was crashing around him, large hands clenched around his neck as though to suffocate him. Suddenly, he gasped for breath, but there was no air. She - the beautiful blonde who he watched die years before - told him to open his eyes, don't stop fighting. There was work that needed to be done, boys who needed their father.

The air entered his lungs in a rush as the woman dissipated. A constant beeping rang in his ears as he worked his way through the thicket of fog. The room was a blurry white except for the fuzzy silhouette standing by his bedside. Squeezing his eyelids together, he tried to focus his gaze on the figure. He made a move to wipe a hand across his eyes but found that he couldn't move his arms.

Panic rose up in his throat and twisted his stomach into knots. Glancing down at his hands, he saw tan strips around his wrists to hold him securely onto the bed. He feverishly twisted his wrists and jerked his ankles.

"How could you do it?"

A soft voice cracking with emotion made him falter in his attempt to free himself. Looking towards the not so blurry version of his youngest son, he felt at a loss of what to say. The kid, only thirteen years old, was reduced to tears with his arms crossed stiffly across his chest. John Winchester looked away from his youngest in search for his oldest - the son who wasn't so judgmental and cryptic. He was nowhere to be found.

"Sammy," he hated the hoarseness of his voice, "where's Dean?"

"Why do you care?" he spat out viciously. "Want to go another round with him?"

"Sammy-"

"DON'T!" The kid's breath was labored as his eyes flickered to the door. "You've done enough! I _hate_ you!"

Never before had either of his sons said such a thing to his face no matter how many times they may have gotten mad or failed to agree with him. In fact, no matter how hard things got for the tiny family, the words _I hate you_ were never uttered from anyone's mouth. For Sammy to say those three words in such an even tone unnerved him greatly. John watched as his youngest stormed out of the hospital room, slamming the door as he left. Feebly, he continued to twist his wrists as he searched frantically through his mind to remember what the hell happened to end him up in the hospital and Sammy to react the way the kid did.

_One Week Earlier_

_1 February 1997_

John Winchester rode shotgun in his old '67 Impala Chevy with newspaper clippings laid out idly in his lap. Except, John wasn't paying much attention to the articles for the new case but whether watching in semi-panic as his oldest weaved in and out of traffic on the major highway. He began to lose count of the numerous near misses, all the accidents his eighteen-year-old somehow managed to avoid with ease. Glancing in the rearview mirror, John could make out his youngest slouched against the backseat with a book propped on his lap.

"Jesus Christ, Sam!" he snapped. "The seatbelt is there for a reason!"

There was something about being a passenger in a car that made John antsy and generally testier than normal. It wasn't that he didn't feel Dean was a good driver with his ability to just barely miss every car he passed. Hell, he just wasn't much for shotgun with anyone especially with Metallica wafting softly through the speakers which had been blaring on full blast three hours ago when they started their road trip to the outskirts of Sioux Falls.

"You never have a problem with seatbelts when _you're_ driving," the kid muttered as he clicked the buckle into place.

"Yeah, that's because your teenage brother isn't driving."

"I'm a good driver," Dean interrupted with a slight offensive tone as his eyes dragged off the road.

"Dean, eyes on the road or else you won't be driving again."

His sons had a way to make him agree to things. They both had pathetic looks they'd plaster on their faces that would easily break down John's walls. Somehow, after only two minutes, Dean conned him into forking over the keys to the Impala while they were packing their bags.

"Are we going to school?" piped Sam from the back as he flipped through the pages of his book. "We were supposed to read _The Chocolate War_ and technically I stole this book since I didn't know we were leaving so soon."

"Dude, shut your cakehole. I don't want to go to school," snapped Dean.

"You're going to school," John concluded as Dean pulled in front of a Honda, the bumper just barely missed being scraped.

"Technically, I'm eighteen and could drop out," he replied like a smartass.

"You drop out of school and you will never drive the Impala again for as long as you live. Not to mention you will not touch a gun or go hunting with me ever again. You will finish school, Dean, end of discussion."

There weren't many times that Dean stepped out of line but the struggle to convince Dean to graduate high school was increasingly difficult. The kid hated the very prospect of school, homework, tests. He deemed them unworthy of his attention and more often than not ended up with report cards with D's and F's. There were few classes that Dean achieved higher grades in such as gym, Latin, and general blow off classes. John knew that his oldest could get straight A's if he wanted to, but he never felt the need to put the time or effort into such things as homework and studying.

"You're going to actually apply yourself as well."

John relaxed in the car, as he picked up a newspaper clipping to read over again. It seemed whenever he was giving orders, the knots seemed to ease in his chest - must be the Marine in him. That was until Dean swerved in the right lane, barely missing a Chevy truck, and preceded to drive onto the off-ramp.

"So, what are we hunting?" Dean questioned as he scouted for a motel.

"Seven people so far lost a day of their lives in the past month, can't remember anything of what happened. A few days later, they just snap - go completely bonkers. They murder a family member or close friend before offing themselves off as well," John replied.

"So what do you think? A demon causing people to go all Norman Bates? That's awesome."

"Oh, yeah, Dean, it's a walk in the park."

Sometimes John often worried about Dean and his enthusiasm towards the job. He would be more than elated if he could just drop out of school and become a professional hunter. Except, John wasn't certain he wanted his boys to follow in his stead. They could go to college, get married, have kids, and be safe for the rest of their lives. A part of him, however, didn't want the boys to leave his side. What if something happened to them just because he wasn't with them?

"Pastor Jim says that there's only one thing more important than education and that's religion," Sammy piped up from the back as he tossed the book aside.

There were times when John wanted to pound Jim in the freakin' ground. He adamantly made his sons attend Sunday School whenever they were near Blue Earth. There were also the countless religious stories that Jim would pour onto the kids. John knew that Mary would be more than thrilled that someone was teaching the boys about religion and angels, because he, himself, could not bring himself to talk about anything that reminded him of Mary. Not to mention, he was never a big believer in the first place.

"Plus, Pastor Jim would know. He's as old as Methuselah."

"No, Dad's as old as Methuselah," Dean said with a smirk.

"Yeah, because forty-three is so old," John replied with an amused tone. "Jim's a good ten years older than me."

"Try two," replied Dean as he pulled into a motel parking lot.

Looking up, John noticed that Dean picked the dingiest, dirtiest, and most disgusting motel in the area. A bout of pride filled him as a smile crept on his face. That's when he noticed Sammy's scowl.

"Maybe we should rent out an apartment," suggested John.

"Why waste the money on an apartment when Lloyd's Motel is probably a lot cheaper?"

"Because we won't get diseases in an apartment," snapped Sammy. "I'll sleep in the car if I have to. There's no way I'm going in that place."

John looked at the motel with broken windows and what looked like blood smears on a part of the building. Granted, it was probably dirt-cheap but somehow he couldn't bring himself to make Sam suffer. John thought about staying in Sioux Falls for the rest of the year to actually give Dean a chance to graduate. He knew a guy who could fudge identification like nobodies business, so the guy could easily enough forge some school documents that could make his oldest a straight C student.

He'd met Hamilton Slane through Bill Harvelle. The two grew up together in hunting families. The men would go off to fight the good fight while the wives stayed at home with the children. The last time John talked to Hamilton, the guy gave him a bitching out about not watching Bill's back as closely as he should have been. Except, John _was_ watching Bill's back. On the other hand, however, he should have noticed Bill had been acting strange, not much like himself since before they even left the Roadhouse. For that, John blamed himself.  
If Hamilton wouldn't forge some documents, John was sure his teenage son Rick would. He'd talked to the kid only twice before at the Roadhouse. He'd been around Dean's age, perhaps a year younger or so. At around the age thirteen, he watched the kid give a hunter a fake ID that looked like a professional did it.

"I'm driving. Out, Dean."

After a good two hours, John found a semi-decent apartment with two bedrooms. Growling slightly, he counted out a thousand buck deposit from his poker and pool winnings from the last town they crashed. They hauled in their bags and the weapons. He let the boys pick their room which was, believe it or not, the master bedroom although it wasn't much bigger than the spare.

"So, you gonna let me in on the hunt or curse me to go to something as useless as high school?" inquired Dean as Sam lounged on the couch and John set up his work in the kitchen.

"No, Dude, you're benched."

"Why?"

"Because, Dean, your GPA is a pathetic 1.8 and you're on the verge of not graduating."

"Nothing in high school they teach me is going to prepare me for the job!" he protested. "Well, except all those Latin courses I took. I don't think I've ever gotten an A before with no effort whatsoever."

"Once you graduate, you can go on every single hunt with me that you want."

"Dad, this hunt, it a one in a million hunt," he reasoned. "I can keep up with schoolwork _and_ help you out."

"Dean…"

"You know how Pastor Jim likes to go on about demons. It's his favorite subject next to God and angels." With the last line, the kid rolled his eyes. "He would be disappointed if you didn't let me hunt some demon with you."

"I think Jim would protest with that idea stating that education is more important no matter his extent of love for religious wars." John paused, giving his first born a long steady look. "I'm going to give it to you straight, Dean. You flunk out of high school; I'm shipping you off to live with Jim next fall to repeat your senior year how ever many times it takes until you graduate. You got that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Watch out for Sammy," he said softly as he shuffled through the clippings one last time. "I'm going to go to the morgue, see if I can't see our latest victim."

Reaching a hand out, John squeezed Dean's shoulder tightly before dragging his eyes to look at Sammy. His hand fell from his son as he walked past him into the living room. Standing behind the couch, he reached a hand down and patted Sammy's mess of hair.

"I'm going out. Dean's in charge."

"He's always in charge," Sam muttered.

"He's the oldest."

"Whatever. Bye, Dad."

Walking out of the apartment, John waited outside until he heard Dean lock the door. He then proceeded to the parked Impala not knowing exactly what lay ahead of him. It wasn't just an ordinary hunt. It was a hunt not only to test the resolve of John Winchester, but a test the hunter's sons. John never even made it to the Impala - didn't even get a chance to dig the keys out of his jeans pocket.

All he knew is that someone grabbed him from behind and pushed him up against a wall on the side of the building. Immediately, he knew it was a possessed human. The demon stared at him, a smirk working its way up upon his face. That's when she came, a tall, dark-haired woman in a skintight dress. John tried to move but found himself glued to the brick building.

"I've heard all about you, John Winchester," the female spoke quietly as her hand touched his cheek. "Shame we had to meet this way."

Her hand left his cheek, gliding up his face until the cool hand lay across his forehead. He couldn't speak, couldn't even move his mouth. Suddenly, pain shot through his whole head and spread all over his body. He felt as though he were on fire as the white-hot pain pulsated through him. The demons that were in front of him started to become blotchy, their faces swirling together in a mixture of colors. Suddenly, the dizziness of shades became darker until everything became black.

* * *

Author's Notes - There's so much I would like to say about this story in the author notes, but I wouldn't dare bore you. I'm actually trying to make this a heavy allegory meta, so hopefully I will be able to pull it off. Not to mention, it's a huge irony piece as well. I couldn't resist it. I probably should have waited to post this until I finished a chaptered story, but 'Grazed Knees' only has one chapter left. Perhaps I should get a beta who wouldn't let me post so many stories at once. This is a huge build-up to the title piece of the series which always get pushed farther back. You know what would really make me happy? A nice little review. They're a joy. 


	2. Saigon Moment

**"Crown of Thorns"**

**"Chapter Two: Saigon Moment"**

It wasn't uncommon to wake up in an uncomfortable place. It wasn't so strange that John woke up feeling as though he'd went ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Except, usually when such a morning occurred, he could remember the previous night rather well after a couple of seconds of sheer confusion. Instead, John woke up slouched against a brick building with a pounding headache. He couldn't remember the night before no matter how long he rested against that wall.

It wasn't the first time that this had happened. On the other hand, it had been years ago before he got married to Mary and after her death that he'd get two sheets to the wind and pass out on some random street or alley. Although, he didn't drink himself into unconsciousness anymore. Sure, he'd had a beer here or there, but he had responsibilities. He had two kids who couldn't go around lugging their drunken father about. Not only that, but John was a hunter - a determined hunter. He never allowed alcohol to get in the way of finding Mary's killer.

So while slumped against the brick, he couldn't come up with a logical explanation of what happened the night before. It wasn't alcohol or drugs - he was fairly positive. He hadn't experimented with drugs since he was a teenager. Then again, it was the sixties and seventies when he was a teenager so it wasn't that out of the norm.

What really bugged him is that he remembered packing up to leave for South Dakota. He could remember Dean convincing him to let him drive - his oldest snatching the keys right out of his hand with a _I got you_ smirk gracing his features. That was it. Nothing else. His mind was just formed this huge blank inside his head.

"Dad!" he heard Dean scream.

"Dad?" he then heard Sam shout.

"Over here!"

John arched his back into the brick wall as he forced himself off the cold ground. His legs felt like jelly, his bodyweight pushing him down to the ground. What the hell happened? He heard footfalls scampering against the pavement and watched his sons appear at the entrance of the alleyway. Dean rushed forward, Sammy staying back slightly confused.

"Dad! What happened?"

Dean fell to the floor and gripped his father's jacket in his fists. He helped hoist his father onto his feet, taking in the extra weight. The only thing that eerily registered in John's mind was his son's scent. Sammy walked slowly towards the two, his brow furrowed.

"Sammy, go get your things for school. You're going in," John said sternly as he leaned his weight into his eldest son.

"Dad…?"

"Dammit, Sam, you're going to be late!"

He vaguely watched as the kid scampered off around the corner. Whenever he yelled at Sammy, Dean always got this look on his face. A look that read plain and clear: _What the hell are you doing talking to Sammy like that?_ John pushed his son away, his back slouching against the brick wall.

"What happened?"

"You went to talk to see the latest victim and never came home," Dean replied. "Don't tell me _it_ got to you?"

"You're going to do everything that I tell you to do, you got that?"

"Dad?"

"Dean, everything I tell you, you will do without question." John searched his son's face until the kid became submissive. "You will not tell Sammy I'm infected or - or whatever."

"Dad, we can't ju-"

"Sam will not know anything. He's just a ba- he's too young."

The plan started to formulate in his head before he could stop it. There was one unspoken rule between John and Dean: protect Sammy. His baby rarely knew what was going on, the dangers of the job were understated in his mind. Sam was the youngest, the pure child who could not remember the feel of fire burning his skin or the absence of Mary.

"You and Sammy will be fine," John said mostly to convince himself. "You're eighteen, Dude, you can do this."

"Do what exactly?"

"Take care of Sammy. You've been doing it your whole life."

"What? You-you're just going to say sayonara and leave us to fend for ourselves?"

"No, Dean, that's not what I'm going to do, and I'm hating this attitude of yours."

There was something different inside of John. A dark twist was filling his gut the longer he stared at his son. There was a yearning to grab the kid by the throat and strangle him to death. He could almost taste the irony tang of blood if Dean's head smashed into the brick wall. Closing his eyes, John tried to push away the sinister thoughts clouding his mind about killing Dean to feast on his blood.

As though in a dream, he drove his sons to the local high school. Dean rode shotgun as his green eyes burned into his father. Cutting the engine, John kept his eyes forward as he gave his usually speech to his sons: keep her head down and nose clean, don't do drugs or have sex on school property (mostly directed towards his oldest), do well, and don't sleep in class. Except his attempt to keep everything normal battled within him. His voice wavered as images of ripping Sam's throat out pulsated in his mind.

"Whatever," Sam scoffed as he slammed the back door to the Impala.

"Dad?"

"I'm going to get custody papers ready," the reply was half-hearted as his knuckles slowly turned white on the steering wheel, "just in case."

"Dad, look, you would never hurt us."

"I'd like to believe that, Dude, but I'm fucked up in the head, and I could never forgive myself if something happened to you boys."

"Don't get out of dodge just yet, okay?" A beat passed before one word that rarely ever escaped Dean's lips vibrated in the car, "_Please_."

Involuntarily, his head jerked yes as Dean slowly got out of the Impala with his bag slung lazily over his shoulder. John watched as he walked towards Sam who was waiting impatiently for his brother on the front steps to the school. Turning the key in the ignition, he maneuvered the car back onto the streets of Sioux Falls.

First things first, he had to call Jim Murphy and get the guy on the know how. If he was going down, Jim needed to be there to help his boys pick up the pieces. Shoving the key into the apartment lock, John nearly took the door off the hinges in his hurry to get to a phone.

"Whoa, Johnny, you got neighbors," a female voice tauntingly rang.

Looking up, John saw a tall woman with dark hair in a skintight black dress sitting on the ragged couch. Dropping the keys onto the small table, John reached behind him to grip the gun that was usually tucked between the flesh of his back and the waistband of his jeans.

"What? You're going to _shoot_ me, John?" she forged a fake sense of surprise. "Really, guns don't work on demons. I thought you, of all people, would know that."

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that."

Even though John knew the gun really was useless, he held the heavy metal with both hands. He pointed it at the demon as he formulated a plan on how to trap it and send the thing back to hell where it belonged.

"I shouldn't be doing this, but I got a soft spot for you, John. I have a thing for depressed handsome men. I also got a thing against… well, the demon you're looking to bark your revenge on."

The gun stayed steady in John's hands as he glared at the demon in front of him. There was a dark smirk gracing her features as her eyes clouded over black. Revenge? There were few things John constituted as revenge in his book: the thing that murdered Mary and anything that so much as touched a hair on his sons' heads.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just send you down to the pit now."

"I've heard great tales of you, John Winchester. So many demons and the like seem fit to build you up into this grand image of a classic hero - a hero who is not without his flaws. They've been talking about you ever since that hunt you went on with that Harvelle hunter - the guy that you pointed a gun at and shot point blank in-between the eyes without so much as a flinch."

"You think you know somethin' about something? You don't know crap."

A puff of air escaped her lips in a pitiful laugh. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards as John secured his gun. His finger pushed back on the metal, so eager to click it all the way back and watch the bullet crash into her.

"I know you _shot_ at your friend who was being possessed by a demon. I know you didn't like the things that were said to you about Mary and her family."

He could remember Mary's family clearly, could remember the mystery that surrounded the Seraph family. She never let him in, never told him the truth about her life. When she died, John guessed what her shady secret was. He knew deep down in his soul but never allowed himself to believe the truth in it until that demon made it real with four words.

"Bill was already dead when I shot him," John said steadily.

"Don't flatter yourself, John, by thinking you put your friend down like a sick dog. Those little scratches weren't going to kill him - but, hey, whatever gets you through the day I suppose."

"You're asking to die, aren't you?"

"Go ahead and shoot the meat suit - kill an innocent girl in the process. That's what you do, Johnny. You're a murderer. You go on this crusade of killing everything 'evil' except half the crap you kill doesn't deserve to be sentenced to death. How many possessed humans have you slaughtered over the years? Oops, the innocent human didn't make it. Oh well. How many people did you kill in Vietnam? Those who weren't possessed and you didn't turn a shy eye when shooting them with your rifle."

"I'm not squeamish, and I believe in survival of the fittest."

"Hmm, maybe you were Darwin in a past life."

"Funny," John said sourly. "You want to tell me why the hell you're here?"

She stood up from the couch, her hands smoothing out the creases in her dress. Head tilted down, her mane of dark hair clouded her face.

"I really am sorry you're going to kill your kids," she whispered. "Sammy would have been a gre-"

Before she could finish the sentence, John pulled his finger back completely to allow the barrel to burst out of the gun. The bullet wound gushed blood out of her right breast as the shot was intended to hit her heart.

"You _shot_ me?" she screeched. "I'm trying to help you and _you_, John, shoot me?"

"You know, I really don't like help. I'm more of a do-it-yourself kind of guy."

"Fine, kill your kids. See if I care."

Her mouth opened wide as black smoke wafted out. A muffled scream filled the room as the body slammed into the ground. The girl gasped out coughs as blood seeped out of the corners of her mouth. Her body shook as her hands feebly grabbed at her chest to where the bullet lay imbedded.

John vaguely remembered situating the girl - who couldn't be more than twenty-five - into his arms. Her body cradled against his chest, her blood staining his t-shirt. He could barely remember handing her off to a nervous looking intern at the local hospital claiming that he found her on the side of the road. He stood there shell-shocked, covered in the girl's blood, as the words the demon spoke to him pulsed in his head.

Turning around, he walked towards the Impala before the police had a chance to talk to him. He slid into the front seat and noted the blood that covered the steering wheel and the splash of crimson on the passenger window. The key twisted in the ignition as John absentmindedly thought if he only shot the girl because his mind was screwed up and not because of who he was.

Wiping his prints off the gun he used to shoot the girl, he disposed of it ten miles away from the apartment. After his favorite gun lay in a dumpster outside of a dodgy strip club, John went back to the apartment to make the phone call he intended to make earlier that day.

"I need you in Sioux Falls," he said urgently before a hello was even uttered from the other end.

_"John?"_

"I need you to look out for Dean and Sammy for awhile."

_"John, I can't."_

"What do you mean you can't?"

_"I'm on my way to the airport. I have a flight leaving for England."_

"England? So what? England is more important than my boys? The boys whom you affectionately tell your whole parish are your nephews?"

_"No, John, this is not more important than Dean and Sam. There was an incident, and I've been called. Bobby will-"_

"You know damn well that Bobby and I don't talk anymore. You know damn well that that bastard sold my kids out!"

_"Bobby didn't sell out Dean and Sam. He merely-"_

"What? You're taking his side now after all this time? Fine, Jim, go to England. I'm sure they need you more."

The receiver slammed down onto the cradle. He felt as the blood pulsated in his ears. His hand hovered over the phone as though he half expected the answers to reveal themselves.

He didn't know how long he sat in the chair in the living room waiting for the boys to get home from school. His mind screamed at him to pack up the boys and leave. His body, on the other hand, forced him to sit in the chair with an excitement at the prospect of the boys returning home. The doorknob jiggled.

"Thanks for picking us up," Sam bit out bitterly. "We waited for you."

"Sam, go do your homework. I'll call you when dinner's ready," Dean spoke softly as he gently pushed his baby brother in the direction of the bedroom.

"No, I want to know what was so important that you left _your_ sons waiting outside of a school without first telling us you couldn't pick us up!"

"Sam, would you go to your room already?" Dean nearly shouted.

"Of course, you'd side with him."

"I'm not sidin' with anyone! Go do your homework!"

John watched as his youngest huffed before storming out of the living room. Several beats passed before the door slammed shut. The feeling of wanting to rip out the insides of his sons filled him again. The very prospect of killing them was as rich in his mind as earlier in the day.

"I want you to pack up yours and Sammy's stuff," John started slowly as he dug into his jean pocket. "Take the Impala and go wherever you want."

"What?" questioned Dean as he easily caught the keys that were thrown at him. "What you are talking about? I thought we decide-"

"_We_ didn't decide anything. I'm the parent. I decide what you two do."

"I've done everything you've ever asked me, but I can't do this. I can't just take Sammy to some random state while you die."

"I don't care if others die at my hands. I don't care if I die. I can't live with you two dead. Call me selfish - whatever. You'll do what I tell you to do."

"No, Sir. I'll get Sammy out of here. I'll take him wherever you want me to take him, but I'm coming back for you."

The longer John stared at Dean, the closer he got to understanding his son. The kid, all of the sudden, looked juvenile and small as he openly defied his father. A deep, dark part of John found that appealing.

"You know, when you were younger, all I had to do to get you and Sammy to do what I wanted was bribe you with cookies or chocolate." A forced smile graced his face. "I know this is… I just wish I could pull you two in a hug and make everything better like when you were kids. That's all it really took."

John stood up; his hand rubbed the stubble that graced his chin. His eyes swiftly glanced in the direction of the bedroom before they landed back on Dean. The kid looked torn between protecting his brother by getting the hell out of dodge and protecting his father from something neither of them could stop.

"Jim's out of town, but I don't think he'd care if you two crashed at his place for awhile."

"Dad…"

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Son."

What happened next was something that John didn't expect - something that he didn't even think Dean expected. All he knew is that his oldest son had latched his arms around his neck in a death grip.

"I'm not leaving," whispered Dean as his breath danced on his father's ear.

That's when the beast inside of John snapped.

* * *

Author's Notes - I've been so incredibly busy, so I'm sorry I haven't been able to update. Hopefully another chapter will not take this long. Thank you for all the reviews - I believe I replied to them all. Sorry for the mistakes that might be above. I have failed to find a beta, and I wanted to get this up for all of you. Leave a little something. 


	3. Bull By the Horns

**"Crown of Thorns"**

**"Chapter Three: Bull by the Horns"**

John knew there was something wrong when he pushed Dean away from him and then swung a fist up to uppercut the boy. There was no part of John that screamed for him to stop; there was no sympathy as the kid stumbled backwards onto his ass. The kid's eyes were wide as he clenched his chin in pain. John's head pulsated as his mind registered Dean as an enemy. The kid was no longer his son, no longer his best friend - he was the reason his life spiraled downhill so quickly.

"Dad?" the kid panted heavily as desperation clung to his words. "Dad!"

"Oh, _Dean_," he said mockingly, "I should have killed your sorry ass when you murdered my wife."

Twisting his torso, he scrambled backwards away from his father and towards the hallway to the room where Sammy sulked. Except, he didn't even make out of the living room before a callused hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. The kid bit down hard on his lip as his eyes rolled back to try to see his father's face.

"You and Sammy just mess everything up," his voice was even as he spoke. "You two have your own special little club of eye rolls and smirks. I know all about it. I know about Sammy. I know what he did, and I know you're covering it up for him."

Sliding his hand up the kid's neck, he twisted his fingers into the dark blonde locks to pull him farther backwards. It was nearly impossible to grab hold of the hair, so he'd have to come up with something else. Sammy's hair, on the other hand, would be perfect.

"Dad, please," he begged, "please, do whatever you want with me but just don't hurt Sammy."

He threw the kid forward against the bookshelf filled with books about demons, ghosts, monsters. The volumes from the top sprinkled down onto Dean who covered his head with his arms. A book of demons fell right in front of the kid, and John then knew the truth.

"Are you working for _it_? You are, aren't you?"

Dean looked beyond petrified as his head jerked from side to side. Whether it was a denial or simply looking for an escape route, John didn't know nor care. In that moment, all he could think about was killing the boy in front of him and about killing his brother in the next room. Dean bled, and John wanted nothing more than to taste it.

Grabbing the kid by the front of his shirt, John dragged him up from the floor and looked at the blood pouring from his nose and the gash on his forehead. Dean gripped his father's wrists tightly and tried to pry them away from his neck.

"What's going on?" called Sam.

"Perfect."

"Dad, listen to me. This isn't you. A demon did-"

"A demon did this to me? I'm just seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, Dean-o."

Shoving the teenager back into the wall, John's hand shifted upwards to lock his fingers around his neck. Sammy came jogging into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks at the scene in front of him. His brow furrowed as he looked at the scene in confusion. Never before had Sam seen his father so much as raise a hand to his sons. Sam stood shell-shocked at the sight of his big brother pinned to the wall, bleeding and gasping for breath.

"Dad? Dean?"

Turning his head, John looked at his youngest with a smirk gracing his features. His grip on Dean's neck tightened as a new thought occurred to him. Who cared about Dean? What would he ever amount to? No, Sam was the real threat just like the demon that had possessed Bill Harvelle's body had said

John's grip loosened on the teenager's throat. Dean slid down the wall onto the floor gasping for air. Sammy stood a moment in confusion and quickly reaching for a lamp off the end table. Before he even got a chance to hurl the lamp at his father, John snatched the kid's wrist and banged it down onto the table. The lamp shattered against the wood as he twisted Sam's wrist backwards.

"Dad? Dad, stop it! You're hurting me!"

Out of nowhere, a body slammed into him and they went flying down to the floor. He vaguely registered Sammy scream. All he could see was Dean above him battling with himself: protect Sam or John? Before he could decide, John flipped the kid onto the ground and pinned him to the floor.

"Sam, run!"

Before John knew what was happening, his fist collided with the kid's face and pounded into his gut. Unexpectedly, John felt the impact, the object shattering against his skull. He saw the black dots - watched as they overtook his vision and mind. John fell to a heap on the floor. His dark hair became sticky, clumping together. Crimson stained the cream carpet. Sammy stood above him with pieces of the vase surrounding him.

"Sammy?" Dean called out in a raspy tone as his own vision clouded. "Find the keys to the Impala."

"Wh-what happened?"

"Not now. We gotta get Dad to the hospital."

Dean propped himself up onto his elbows and took in the blurry scene around him. There were two Sams who looked down at him with a mixture of anger, confusion, fear - but above all else there was also trust. Trust was, ironically enough in the situation, the foundation of the Winchester family. The trust between Sam and Dean was stronger than ever, but the trust in John crumpled completely in Sammy's eyes because of a demon - a sick and twisted demon that put John up against the sons he loved more than anything else in the world.

"Dean?" the kid's voice cracked slightly.

"Dad's hurt badly. Let's go. I'm driving."

"You can't drive like this!"

Standing up shakily, Dean gripped the couch as though it were his lifeline. Sam rushed to his brother's side and offered support, but Dean stubbornly refused Sammy's help. He had to drive in the condition he was in, so he had better get used to walking by himself.

"Help me get Dad out to the car," Dean ordered as he tried to push back the sleep that was quickly consuming him.

"Why? So he can attack us again?"

The promise he made to his dad about keeping Sammy in the dark vibrated in his mind. It was better not to tell the kid the horrors of hunting… except the kid would believe his father was a sociopath who finally snapped. In Dean's eyes, it was a lose/lose situation.

"He's sick," Dean decided to say. "He, uh, has this… brain tumor."

"That's doesn't even make sense!" Sam screamed. "He would have told me! Stop lying, Dean!"

"He didn't tell you, because he didn't want you to worry." Dean swallowed the hard lump in his throat as he shook his head to clear his vision. "Don't worry, m'kay? I'm gonna take care of you. When we get to the hospital, you're going to say Dad is your uncle, all right? Uh, Pastor Jim, say that Pastor Jim is your dad."

Sam nodded his head to show he understood as he helped Dean drag John outside and into the Impala. They situated him in the backseat. Dean stumbled behind the wheel and twisted the key in the ignition as Sam scrambled in the passenger's side.

The road seemed endless as the lanes blurred together. The car drifted into oncoming traffic more than once. Every time a car honked, Dean thought his head was going to explode. He could hear Sam breathing heavily next to him and could see him grip the seatbelt tightly out of the corner of his eye.

It seemed like hours of near misses in a fiery car crash before they reached the hospital. Dean tumbled from the Impala and fell down onto the pavement. His hands throbbed as he heard his name being called in a wave of distortion. He saw a blotchy Sam wander into his line of vision before a swirl of majestic colors filled his head.

"I need help!" he heard Sammy yell as his cool hand touched his brother's cheek.

Everything then became black.

Dean didn't know how much time had gone by between passing out in the parking lot of the hospital and waking up in a hospital room to the sound of the annoying constant _beep_ing. Turning his head to the right, he made out Sam's mess of hair. His face was somewhere between his brother's side and under his arm. Reaching towards his baby brother, Dean brushed the kid's hair. They were safe.

His major headache and aching ribs were no more. He felt as though he were on cloud nine, all his troubles seemed to have gone out the backdoor. His mind contemplated the type what sort of pain medicine he could be on when Sammy stirred. The kid's face wiped against the stiff sheets as he twisted around to see his brother was now awake with hazy eyes.

"Hey, Dude, how ya been?" slurred Dean.

"Sprained wrist," he replied quietly as he showed his brother his wrapped wrist. "I told the doctors that Pastor Jim was my dad, and he's on a business trip so I stayed with my uncles."

"I'm too young to be your uncle," Dean said sleepily.

"I told them you were twenty-one, and Dad had a brain tumor. Dean, the doctors took scans and stuff of his brain and then asked me if I was lying."

"What'd you say?"

"I told them that's what I was told. They said they found some pressure on his… uh, some kind of lobe in the brain. I think they said there was an aneurism too? I don't know. They were really vague and really wouldn't tell me anything. Anyways, he's in surgery right now."

Dean reached out a hand and rested it on the kid's shoulder. He gave Sammy a soft smile as he squeezed the flesh lightly.

"That's good."

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Mm really tired. This medicine is like… really good."

Dean briefly watched Sam nod his head as tears poured down his face. He was about to ask his brother what was wrong when he blacked out. Sam swallowed a lump in his throat as he furiously wiped the hot tears off his face with his sleeve. Everyone was lying. He didn't know who to trust. He didn't know whether his dad was really sick or if he had finally snapped.

Social workers found their way to Dean's room and asked Sam to walk with them. There was one thing that he had been taught ever since he could remember. Social workers were not on the Winchester's side. They were ignorant people who didn't understand the world of hunting supernatural beings.

Sam blocked out his father's grave words of being taken away from him and Dean to be dumped in a stranger's home. He didn't care about anything his father said to him in the past. So Sam walked into a small conference room with a nice looking man and lady, who asked him what exactly had happened. Sam battled within himself as he noticed the cop standing in the corner of the room with a notepad out and pen at the ready. Cops were another type of person that his dad always condemned stating that they just didn't understand.

"Dean said that Uncle John had a brain tumor, and it caused pressure on his brain so he lashed out."

"Dean's the young gentlemen whose room you were in?" the lady asked in a sweet tone as he nodded. "Can you tell me who Dean is?"

"My br- uncle."

"Your brother or your uncle?"

"Dean always says I'm more like a brother to him than a nephew," Sam whispered as panic rose up in his chest.

"We tried to contact your father-"

"He's out of town," Sam rushed. That's why I was staying with Uncle John and Uncle Dean. I called my dad's best friend. He's on his way to look out for me until my dad comes back."

"Okay, who's your dad's friend?"

"Caleb Lyons."

It was the first name that popped into Sam's head. Last month, they went to Lincoln, Nebraska to Caleb Lyons' shop. He was an arms dealer who supplied hunters with weapons and ammo. Caleb had always been nice to Dean and him, and he was the only person close enough that he could think of.

"Where does Mr. Lyons live?"

"Nebraska."

"All right, Sam, thank you for your time. You may sit with your uncle. If Mr. Lyons is not here by nightfall, then you will have to be taken into custody as a ward of the state. Once Mr. Lyons gets here, we can hand over temporary custody to him as long as he doesn't leave the state, all right?"

Sam nodded numbly and realized he only had a few hours for Caleb to get to South Dakota. He left the conference room in a hurry to get to a pay phone. Digging out spare change from his pocket, he punched in the number to Caleb's business. The phone seemed to ring forever before a man picked up on the other end.

_"Lyons' Arms. What can I do for ya?"_

"Caleb, it's Sam…" he lowered his voice as his eyes darted around the room, "Winchester."

_"Sammy? Is everything all right?"_

"Can you get to Sioux Falls, South Dakota in two hours?"

_"Why? What's going on? Let me talk to John or Dean."_

"You can't. Dad's in surgery, and Dean's so hyped up on pain meds that he doesn't even know what's going on."

_"Whoa. Whoa. Wait, little fella, tell me what exactly happened."_

Sam went into the shortened version of what happened. His tale made John out to be completely incapacitated mentally that Caleb had a hard time believing what he was hearing. It was only when Sam told him he'd be a ward of the state by sundown that Caleb promised he'd be on the next flight out and hung up abruptly.

For the next two hours, Sam sat in Dean's hospital room anxious and nervous. The door opened to the room, and Sam was sure he stopped breathing. Then he saw familiar dirty strawberry blonde hair, warm grey eyes, and a whisker-stubbled chin. Caleb Lyons, who was in his early thirties, walked into the room and softly closed the door.

"You okay, Sammy?" he questioned as he took a seat next to the young boy.

"I guess. Did you get me out of being a ward of the state?"

"Uh, yeah, so don't worry about that." Caleb cleared his throat. "John's out of surgery if you want to go see him."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed, "after what he did?"

"Look, I know John and I know the people he's close with. Everyone says he'd give his life for you boys."

"Then why'd he do it?"

"You said he had pressure on his brain?" He nodded. "Sammy, when something's wrong with the brain people can change. I'm sure he's better now and can explain everything."

Sam nodded and made up his mind to face his father. Standing up from the uncomfortable hospital chair, he gave Caleb a weak smile before leaving the room.

* * *

Author's Notes - Here's another chapter that finally explains what exactly happened between John and Dean. Anyways, I hope you're still enjoying this heavily ironic piece in the series. Also, props to my new beta Shannon who is just freakin' amazing. Leave a small review before you click back. 


	4. Twisted Hierarchy

**"Crown of Thorns"**

**"Chapter Four: Twisted Hierarchy"**

The darkness seemed to come in waves. One minute, he'd see a light at the end of the tunnel, hear whispers deep in the seed of his brain, before he caught flashes of horrific images that drew him deeper into the dark abyss. It seemed as though he was always on the brink of consciousness when the strangest thoughts went through his mind.

His head felt heavy and hazed as he marched towards a stage with his hands twisted behind his back in bristly rope. It felt like acid was corroding his stomach as he walked down the aisle of faceless people to the scaffold. The crime he committed was muddled in his mind. Flashes of attacking Dean floated through his head as a dirty rope was slung around his neck. Just as the chair beneath his feet was kicked out from under him, he looked around to see Sammy's nursery.

Images of Mary clouded his head as she bore messages of stop fighting and wake up. The feeling of weightlessness seemed to be disappearing as he felt heavy. The weight of his thoughts seemed to crash down upon his shoulders. His eyes opened and took in the white, sterile surrounding. Only then did he see his youngest son near tears and angrier than John had ever seen him.

John twisted his wrists which were bound by hospital shackles. His mind raced a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out what Sammy meant. His youngest left in a huff - the door slammed on his way out. He couldn't remember anything that had happened. It was as though a huge black void invaded his mind and latched onto the deepest corners of his mind. The last thing he remembered was packing up the boys for the drive to South Dakota.

The door to the hospital room opened several minutes later to reveal a tall brunette nurse who smirked as she entered. The door closed with a soft snap and the lock clicked. Something told John to grab a gun, but that thought was fruitless. The woman walked closer and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, Johnny, look at this mess," she spoke softly as her fingers trailed up his bare arm. "I mean, you sitting here while Dean's all black and blue in ICU. Look at that, I'm a poet."

"What do you mean? What happened to my son? If you did anything, I will-"

"Oh, but John, _I_ didn't do anything to Dean. You did. You beat him to a bloody pulp. Sammy had to knock you out just to make you stop."

He comprehended the words that left the so-called nurse's mouth but couldn't believe a word of it. He beat up Dean? There was no way in hell that he would even think about laying a finger on either of his boys. They were his constant, his touchstones who kept him going even when he met his wits end. There was no John without Dean and Sam at his side.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Black clouded over her eyes before returning to the normal green swirl. John fought against the restraints. He just had to slip one wrist out to take control. The demon reached towards his wrists and pulled the strips tighter.

"John, I'm hurt. You really think I'm here to kill you or something?"

"What? You want to play some poker and forget about the fact that you're a good for nothing piece of crap demon?"

"Ouch. Way to hurt a girl's feelings."

"You're no girl," spat John.

"Really? I think I sort of am."

She reached down and cupped her breasts to prove her point before a low chuckle escaped through her lips. Leaning back, she arched an eyebrow at John.

"You do anything to my boys, and you'll live to regret it while rotting in hell."

"I promise, John, I just want to talk." She lifted one hand and made the Boy Scout hand sign. "Demons honor."

John huffed out a breath of air as his wrists continued to twist in the shackles. The skin slowly started to chafe as his wrists swelled up in pain. John, on the other hand, kept his poker face while he watched the demon get comfortable on his bed as though he were a sick child and she was reading him a bedtime story.

"You see, it's a dark, twisty hierarchy of the highest demands. You hunters have your hierarchy, the rookies struggling their way up to be renowned hunters. We have a hierarchy as well, except someone is trying to screw it up with psychics and war. You see, there are some demons who don't believe Lucifer is real just like there are humans who doubt your God. Some people think they're just names… words."

"You're preaching to the wrong choir," John told her matter-of-factly.

"Really? I would have taken you for a man of faith, Johnny."

A man of faith? How could he believe in divine intervention, that everything happens for a reason, that God doesn't give anyone more than they can handle when Mary was ripped out of his and the boys' lives? For the longest time, John worried that his lack of parenting skills would wreck his children. He worried how two boys could grow up healthy and balanced without a mother in their lives. How could they survive living on the road with a father who is constantly in danger?

"Guess you don't know me as well as you thought," he bit back bitterly.

"Well, I guess it's all about the hierarchies then: leaders and followers." She paused as a sneer left her lips. "You know what they say about all the king's horses and all the king's men…"

"Actually, I don't assume. You know what they say when you assume."

"Oh, you're cute, John."

John continued to twist and turn his wrists to no avail. The longer he forced pleasantries with this demon, the more likely he was to snap. He hated demons. He hated anything that wasn't human. There were rumors about Mary. Jim Murphy did his digging into Mary's death. His opinion was that a demon killed her because of _who_ she was. John didn't have it in him to believe it.

"You're the valiant dark horse galloping through the American frontier into prominence. It really _is_ too adorable for words. When I took this job, I didn't expect to become so… _attached_ to you."

"What's your job?"

He tried to talk in a steady voice; however, he thought he might have screamed the question. All he could hear was the blood pumping wildly in his ears. A demon targeted him? Why would any demon target him of all people?

"You want to hear a story, Johnny, while you're all small and sick in your hospital bed?"

"Go for it."

"Once upon a time, Samuel Colt was one of the few and last leaders of the hunting world - except, people couldn't stand the thought of being _under_ him. So not only was he battling demons, but he was battling fellow hunters who wanted nothing more than Colt's blood on their hands. Soon, Colt went mad with paranoia. He started building churches and iron railways and even attempted to make a demon-killing gun. It's laughable really. He's the huge joke down in the demon community because he started to battle windmills and nothing else."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Johnny, there are hunters and demons alike who think you're going to be the next Samuel Colt. They think you're crazy enough to be held in such high esteem. The demons, however, fear that fellow hunters will actually follow you. They think that you're a force to be reckoned with, and hunters would be insane enough to _want_ to follow you and to _want_ you to succeed."

The very notion of him being a leader of hunters was laughable. Sure, he could take charge and bark orders like nobody's business - he was an ex-Marine after all. Except, the thought of leading hunters into battle didn't appeal to him. He wasn't hunting for glory or for fun. He was hunting because something supernatural killed the love of his life, and John couldn't rest until he murdered that_ thing_ with his bare hands.

"I'm no leader."

"That's what all the great leaders say. I was sent by a demon who wanted your family out of the picture, out of the business. You see, John, I'm high on the hierarchy of demons because I can rest my hand on anyone's head and alter their brain. I made you forget the day you first met me. I made you slowly start to forget your sons. I implanted the idea in your brain that your sons were evil. I did that. I'm considered the best demon assassin," she said affectionately. "There are all types. Assassin demons, crossroad demons, elemental demons, wrecking havoc demons… the list goes on. Some demons, like the crossroad demon, are enslaved. They're down near the bottom of the food chain. They belong to a big shot demon who feeds off the souls of mortals. You see, after a crossroads demon dies or collects enough souls, this big shot takes the lowest from of demon and makes it into something. After so many souls, a crossroads demon is allowed to run their own life, possess people, and cause chaos. I, on the other hand, am not enslaved. I get reimbursed each time I kill someone or something. I'm paid the big bucks, and there are only a couple of us in existence. America's my turf."

"I didn't know demons used money," he said through clenched teeth. "I just assumed you pillaged, raped, and murdered for survival."

"No, we don't get paid in money. How ludicrous is that when we _can_ just pillage, rape, and murder?"

John twisted his wrists as a fiery pain shot through his arms. This demon had been hired - _hired_ - to destroy his family. He needed to get out of the restraints, scoop up his boys, and get the hell out of dodge as quickly as possible. Demons were evil, crazy son-of-a-bitches. He wouldn't put anything pass them.

"Don't worry, Johnny, I won't hurt the boys. I'm much too fond of you. You were like nothing I imagined," she spoke as though she were talking to a small child.

"What the hell did you imagine?"

"A sociopath who cares more about hunting than his own flesh and blood for starters. You're so protective. It's not what I imagined with all the stories that go floating about."

"Excuse me?" John questioned as his wrists started to throb.

"I hear stories about you that rival Alexander the Great and King Arthur. One demon referred to you as the modern day Julius Caesar who is training your boys to take the crown once you fall." She laughed softly. "It's ironic seeing how you betrayed Bill Harvelle and murdered him."

"Seeing as you've heard so much about me, then you know that when I'm out of this hospital I'm going to hunt you down like the animal you are and send you straight back to the pit."

"Charming, John, and I thought we were having such a nice chat. I can always go into your mind and delete this little memory, or I can tell you who killed your wife. I want him dead, Johnny, because he's a pain in the ass for all of us. He has this whole master plan falling into place. He thinks he's the Devil and God all rolled up into one."

Demons lie - end of discussion. There was no point to consider believing her. Her words, however, struck a cord deep down in his heart. If he could kill the thing that murdered Mary, then he and the boys could finally try to have a normal life. They could settle down, Dean could have a home and job, and Sammy could go off to college. It would be perfect.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"He goes by the name Azazel. That's all I'll give you: a name. You can go about your research and figure out the truth. Kill him."

The bed squeaked slightly as her weight left the springs. She walked towards the door without another word. John stared at her as her hand gripped the doorknob. She turned around with a smirk dancing on her face.

"Your wife, Mary, she knew him. He'd come to her before in her dreams. Right after she turned twenty-two, she began to get nightmares. Am I warm? The same thing will happen to your youngest. Azazel touched him when he was a child just like he touched Mary when she was young."

With that, the demon vacated the room to leave John with an overwhelming amount of thoughts. It had been a couple weeks after Mary turned twenty-two when she'd bolted up in bed next to him, terrified. She'd never told him what the dreams were about. They became less frequent as time wore on. John suspected that she was getting better at hiding them. A couple months after Dean was born, Mary told him she hadn't had a nightmare since her little angel came into her life.

Mary's life before John was hazy. She rarely talked about it. She moved around a lot when growing up with her uncle and brother. John had only spoken to them once or twice. The last time he saw Ben Seraph, the guy attacked him in the waiting room of a hospital in Billings, Montana. The last time he saw Douglas Hale was shortly after Mary died. Her uncle came to the Guenther residence to find out what happened. John told him about the fire, the screams, and how he saw Mary pinned to the ceiling with her stomach cut open. Douglas Hale was the first person who believed the story and told him to keep digging.

He _had_ to talk to Douglas Hale again. He had to find out exactly what he knew about Mary's death and a demon by the name of Azazel.

* * *

Author's Notes - I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. This chapter is really setting up the title piece to the series entitled "The Dark Horse". There's lots of foreshadowing of the story to come. I've always wanted to let you all know that I've been replying to review responses like mad for all the stories I have listed. So don't forget to check those out. Once again, thanks Shannon for editing. Any mistakes left are my fault. 


	5. Fall from Grace

**"Crown of Thorns"**

**"Chapter: Fall from Grace"**

The words the demon spoke to him crashed into his mind like harsh currents. They were electrifying thoughts that invaded his head like a disease. He _knew_ demons lied. It was one of the first lessons he learned as a novice hunter. Never trust a demon no matter how sweet the lie. He had a name of a demon: Azazel. There was no harm in being cautious with what the demon told him, but he could check the demon out. If the demon had the same attributes as the demon who murdered Mary, then he would know who to go after once and for all.

He needed to leave the hospital. He needed to get his boys and get the hell out of dodge as quickly as possible. The very prospect that his sons were taken away from him burned at his heart. Dean would be all right. He was legal. Sammy was another story. If Sammy had told the truth, then he could have been carted off to a foster home by now.

The door to the room opened, and John's breath caught in his throat. _Please be Dean. Please be Dean._ When the door opened all the way, it was Caleb Lyons walking through the doorway and not his son.

"What the hell are you doing here?" questioned John as a smile worked its way on his face because he knew his boys were safe with Caleb.

"Apparently I'm playing godfather to your brat," he responded steadily as he walked towards his friend. "Care to tell me what the fuck happened?"  
There were few people who had gained John's complete trust over the years and hadn't lost it. Jim Murphy and Caleb Lyons had always been there to look after his boys, with few exceptions. They were the only hunters he completely trusted who were still alive. If Bill Harvelle was still breathing, then he would be on the list as well. Any given day, he would gladly have Bill watching his back during a hunt. Too bad Bill couldn't say the same for him.

"A demon got into my mind and just… I don't know. I don't really remember," replied John as his face scrunched up in concentration.

"Yeah, well, there's lots of reports of people going psycho and killing loved ones before offing themselves as well." Caleb paused as he pulled up a chair. "There are definitely players in town."

"What kind of players?"

"Both demonic and hunting," he replied as he leaned back in the chair. "I was making some calls once I got here to claim temporary custody of Sammy - by the way, the kid is smart. He said Jimmy was his father and you were his uncle. Anyways, I made some calls to some friends. All of them said some serious demonic activity was cropping up around this area. There are at least ten different hunting groups camped around. You know the average demonic possession cases happening in a year is about three or four, right? This month alone in this lovely state it's already ten."

"They wanted to draw me out."

"Conceited much?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, get me and the boys out of here."

"You look too much like a patient to just walk out of here."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, when the demon laid it's mojo on you, it caused pressure to swell up in your brain which made you act out. You had brain surgery, my friend, and currently have some nifty white wrap on your bald head."

After a good ten minutes of careful planning, the hunters set their plan into motion. John changed clothes and sneaked out of the hospital window while Caleb told Dean to check out against medical advice. Within the next twenty minutes, the Winchesters and Caleb were in the Impala.

"I'm not staying with him," objected Sam. "No way in hell!"

"Sammy, stop," Dean murmured as he pulled his brother close to him. "Caleb, drive."

They drove for just over two hours before they crossed into Blue Earth, Minnesota. Even though the pastor wasn't home, they camped out at his house. John had a spare key to the house and let the small group in.

"Caleb, take Dean upstairs," ordered John.

The older hunter helped the younger one up the stairs. John watched wearily as the two made their way upstairs. His head was pounding and he felt disoriented. He could barely make out Sammy's presence.

"How could you hurt Dean like that?"

Sometime, just sometimes, John wanted to shake the kid. Sammy was defiant, stubborn, and sometimes the biggest pain-in-the-ass. Finding his way to the living room, John leaned back into the comfortable couch and waited for his youngest to press matters. Sam never stopped pushing.

"Dad, I'm talking to you."

"I was sick, Sammy," he whispered.

"It's Sam. You don't get to call me Sammy anymore."

Quirking an eye open, John stared at his son. The kid was beyond pissed. There wasn't trust in his eyes any longer. It felt like someone had stabbed John in the heart and twisted the rusty blade just to prove a point. Sammy went to hero-worshipping his father to hating him in a matter of a couple days because of some demon.

"Go check on your brother, Sam," John said in a defeated tone. "Just get the hell out of my sight."

A moment of hurt flashed through the kid's eyes before he turned and huffed up the stairs to the usual room the boys shared while staying with the pastor. John let out a deep sigh as he arched his back into the couch. When did things get so messy? When did their lives go from being all right to a complete disaster?

When Sam was fast asleep in a different room to give Dean some time to recover without the smaller boy checking on him every couple minutes, John went upstairs to sit by his older son's side. The kid had several bruises and cuts on his face and arms. He didn't even want to know the damage underneath Dean's clothes. Brushing a lock of hair away from the kid's forehead, he stirred awake.

"Dad?" his voice was thick with sleep.

"Hey, Dude, how you doing?"

"Better. How are you?"

A frown crossed John's face. Dean shouldn't be asking how his father was doing. Dean should be worried about himself for a change and not everybody else.

"I'm good. I'm real good now seeing you."

"Did you get it? The demon that…"

"Nah, I didn't get it. Look, Dean, whatever I said or did back there, I didn't mean it. It wasn't me."

Dean nodded slowly, but John knew the kid didn't believe it. Anyone that ever knew Dean knew that he took whatever was said to him to heart no matter what the circumstance was. The kid would forever be haunted by the fact that his father beat him and he would believe what was told to him even though John had no control over himself at the time. That was one fact that would forever haunt John as well.

"Do you need anything? I'm gonna be at your beck and call for as long as you need," John said with a small smile.

"Dad, can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure, go right ahead."

"Do you… do you know what killed Mom?"

The question threw John aback. Why would he ask that now of all times? Swallowing hard, he shook his head in the negative. His hand left the boy's forehead and gripped Dean's hand tightly.

"I have theories, but I don't know for sure."

"What's your main theory?"

"I'm thinking a demon." John cleared his throat. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

Dean shook his head before closing his eyes and turning his face away from his father. John took that as his cue to leave.

Sam gave his father the silent treatment for the next few days. Dean was up and walking around. Caleb pushed John to tell him what the hell was going on. John waited for Jim Murphy to get home. Two days later, Jim walked into his home to find it full of houseguests.

"I didn't know I'd have company," he announced his presence in concern as he saw the bruises and cuts on Dean's face.

"Pastor Jim!" shouted Sam.

The smallest kid got up from the couch in the living room, where he'd been watching television with his brother, and rushed towards the pastor. Sam threw his arms around the man and held on as though the pastor was his only lifeline.

"Sammy, it's good to see you too. Dean, are you okay?"

"'M fine," he mumbled.

"Where's your father?"

The smile on Sam's face fell as he gestured towards the kitchen. He then retreated to the couch to sit with his big brother. John stood in the doorway watching the scene unfold in front of him. With a frown, he motioned his old friend into the kitchen where Caleb sat.

"What happened to you?"

"Had brain surgery. No biggie."

"John?" Jim questioned. "What in all that is holy happened?"

He ignored the question and sat down at the head of the small table. Jim sat across from Caleb as his gaze shifted between the two younger hunters. John leaned back in his chair and tilted it on two legs.

"A demon," Caleb replied. "Johnny's been messing with the wrong crowd."

"You had brain surgery because of a demon?"

"This demon is known as an Assassin Demon. It gets inside your brain, applies pressure, makes you hurt the people you love."

"Assassin Demon?" questioned Caleb. "Oh, this has got to be good."

Jim shot Caleb a look to shut up. The pastor didn't take well to people interrupting a story with sarcastic comments. He liked to hear all of the facts before discussing what exactly needed to be done.

"An Assassin Demon? Is that way both Sam and Dean are acting oddly?" asked Jim.

"Dean knew about the hunt. He knew that something was changing people so they attacked loved ones and then killed themselves. He knew everything. Sam knew very little. He doesn't even know that it was a demon that caused me to… he thinks it was purely medical and doesn't accept that."

"Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

"You know Dean and I keep Sammy in the dark with this stuff. Plus, it would just give him another reason to bitch and moan about hunting." John chuckled softly. "I'm not giving him more ammunition."

The chair fell onto all four legs with a loud _thump! _Folding his hands together, John leaned forward onto the table to get to the good information he had. All hunters had their specialties. Jim's forte was demons and all things dealing with religius lore. Perhaps the only person who knew more about demons was Bobby Singer. Except, John didn't feel like talking to the guy unless it was dire.

"You ever hear of a demon named Azazel?"

"'And Azazel taught men to make swords and knives and shields and breastplates; and made known to them the metals and the art of working them; and bracelets and ornaments; and the use of antimony and the beautifying of the eyelids; and all kinds of costly stones and all coloring tinctures. And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray and became corrupt in all their ways.'" Jim recited. "Book of Enoch."

"So, this Azazel fell from grace?" questioned John.

"Azazel corrupted man and was doomed to damnation. 'On the day of great judgment he shall be cast into the fire.'"

John nodded as he tried to sort all the thoughts that were roaming wildly in his mind. If Azazel was real, John vowed that he would find the demon and kill it with his own two hands.

"John, what's going on?" Jim asked.

"The Assassin Demon told me it was hired to alter my mind so that all three of us would die."

"This demon… did it go by the name of Abaddon?"

"It didn't give a name. Why? Who's Abaddon?"

"Abaddon is known as 'The Destroyer'. He's identified as an angel of death and destruction, a demon of the abyss. He's known as a chief demon of the underworld hierarchy. Some even compare him to Satan and Samael," replied the pastor.

"Samael?"

"He's attributed to being the 'Angel of Death'."

John's head was spinning at the amount of information. The use of the word _hierarchy_ by Jim made what this demon - Abaddon? - say more real. Running a weary hand down his face, John sighed deeply.

"If this demon is named Abaddon, it's a female demon," John said slowly to gather his thoughts. "How can Abaddon and Samael both be the 'Angel of Death'?"

"Samael is known as the 'Angel of Death'. Abaddon is known as the 'Angel of Death _and_ Destruction'. I'm assuming it has the power to not only alter minds but a lot of other things as well. There's a story of how Abaddon was called upon by Moses to invoke the terrible rains of the Plague of Egypt."

"How would one go about summoning Abaddon?"

"You're off your rocker, Johnny," Caleb finally spoke with a scoff. "This demon chick alters your brain so you will kill your sons and you want to summon it?"

"I want answers, Caleb."

"Enough," Jim said sternly. "John, listen to me, summoning demons is not the way to go."

It was John's turn to scoff. He'd heard speeches like this all too often. John was impatient and a person who acted without thinking first. This demon had information on what killed Mary, and he was just supposed to sit around with his thumb up his ass?

"Screw you, Jim," he said. "I can summon the demon if I want."

"What, John? Are you going to summon Abaddon and Azazel to demand answers? They're powerful, so powerful that not even a Devil's Trap could hold them for long. Do you honestly have a death wish?"

"I've been hunting this demon for over a decade now, Jim, and this is my first real lead. I gotta know what happened to my Mary," John said in a cracked voice.

"What about Dean and Sam? They already lost their mother. Do you really want them to lose their father as well? To become orphans? Think rationally about this, John. Think about your sons."

"They'll be fine. Hell, they'll probably be better without me. They could have a chance at a normal life-"

"You stop right there, Jonathan Winchester," Jim seethed. "Those boys would be wrecked and you know that. You are all those boys have. You have been with them every step of the way. You have cared and protected them their whole lives. You may be fighting with Sam now, but that boy still loves you more than life itself. I will not stand back and watch you break those boys."

John let the words process in his mind. _No_. He couldn't do that to his sons. He couldn't risk dying and leave them to grow up without a father. Mary would never forgive him if he did that.

"Okay, we'll try it your way for now, Jim," whispered John. "Dean and Sam will not know anything about this. They will not know about Azazel or Abaddon or anything dealing with Mary's death. They are to be kept in the dark. Do you hear me?"

"Crystal," Jim replied.

"Nothing leaves this room. Caleb, do not discuss this with anybody else or you'll end up in a body bag - so help me God."

"That stings, Johnny," said Caleb. "You know I wouldn't do that."

"All right then," John said with a smile. "Let's kill some of evil sons-of-bitches and raise a little hell."

* * *

Author's Notes - Thanks for the fantastic ride with this piece. It's a huge set-up piece for the title piece of the series entilted "The Dark Horse" where everything will fall into place. Everything I've been building up in the series, especially with this story, will come full force. Thanks so much to my editor, Shannon, yet again. All mistakes left are my own. I hope you stay tuned for the next updates of the series.


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